The Boy from District 3
by Irish Wildfire
Summary: With a bad leg, John Watson has no chance of winning the 26th annual Hunger Games. Until, that is, he meets Sherlock: the boy from District 3. As the games go on, one question continues to run through John's head. And he is not sure he wants to know the answer. How am I going to be able to kill him?
1. I volunteer as Tribute

At about one o'clock I change into the nicest clothes I own, which really only means a pair of faded black pants and a soot-stained white shirt.

Harriet braids her own hair in front of the mirror. She is wearing one of our mum's old dresses, with green and blue flowers. It looks far too cheerful for this place, and sort of hangs on her like it is several sizes too big, which it is.

I do not expect mum to come to the reaping. She has not since we were fifteen. She has not done much of anything for a very long time.

At one-thirty, I pick up my walking stick and we start towards the square.

The entirety of the district, at least the families, manages to fit into the square. At this point, everyone is an open book. All you have to do is look close enough. And it helps when you know exactly how they are feeling. Terrified beyond belief. Guilty for wishing that it will be someone else instead of you. All the parents who make a sort of circle around the outside are wishing they could take their children's place. The good ones anyway.

Harriet and I split up. She joins the fifteen year-olds and I go to stand with the eighteen year-olds. Nobody speaks. Nobody even looks at each other. Everyone is wondering who will be the one who to disappear forever.

After a good fifteen minute wait later, the district officials file out onto the stage set up in front of the Justice Building. Augustus Flynn steps up to the microphone, looking like strict business. His burgundy suit is buttoned up, and the tie around his neck looks so tight that he might have tried to strangle himself putting it on. His black hair is combed straight back, and turning gray in some places.

"Welcome to the reaping," he says, his voice monotone, his face flat. "for the twenty-seventh annual Hunger Games."

Nobody cheers or applauds. Only silence. Augustus steps back from the microphone, and the mayor steps up. He reads the Treaty of Treason, then steps away. Augustus walks forward again, his expression still unchanged.

"We will now choose one young man and woman, who shall represent District Twelve in this year's games."

He sticks his hand into a clear glass ball, filled to the brim with paper slips. He fishes around for a moment, the produces a slip from the middle. He unfolds it carefully and takes a breath before speaking.

"Harriet Watson."


	2. I had no idea what to name this chapter

My eyes widen in horror as my sister steps forward, her face frozen in fear. This was not possible. It could not be.

I run forward, pushing past everyone. I lose my walking stick, but run after her, limping as fast as I can.

"Harriet!"

She turns around just as she reaches the step that lead up to the stage. All eyes turn to us as I catch up to her. A Peacekeeper steps in front of me, holding me back. No! I have to get to her!

"I volunteer as tribute!" I do not even think as the words escape my mouth. Harriet can barely defend herself, much less survive, all alone in whatever arena they managed to dream up this time. She stares at me in silent horror, as does everyone else in the square. Even Augustus looks shocked. He turns to the mayor, probably to ask whether or not this is allowed. They have not even called for volunteers, and I do not know if it is technically allowed for a boy to volunteer when they are calling for female tributes. Bot no one argues as I walk slowly up the steps. Maybe some of them recognised me. The crippled boy. Harriet's brother. They would remember her. Not me.

As I pass Harriet, she stares at me, pleading with her eyes. She wants me to stay. I look away, unable to face her. The officials stare at me with a strange mix of sympathy and admiration. It would not last long. Soon enough it would turn to pity.

I slowly make my way to stand beside Augustus, stone-faced. He holds the microphone in front of me. "What is your name?"

"John Watson," I mutter, staring out at the crowd, my voice almost completely monotone. There is no need for emotion here.

"That was your sister, was it not John?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak anymore. Thankfully, Augustus turns everyone's attention back to the reaping.

"Despite this dramatic turn of events, we must continue, and because of this young man's bravery, we are still in need of our female tribute."

He reaches into the glass with the girl's name's again, but I do not pay much attention as he unfolds it.

"Irene Adler."

A tall, dark-haired girl steps forward with no fuss. She holds her head high, and shakes Augustus' hand proudly.

"May I present your tributes from District 12," Augustus says, still quite somber. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I don't look where I know Harriet will be standing. I do my best to keep my composure. I don't want to lose it right here, in front of everyone. Especially not in front of Harriet.

As they lead us into the Justice Building, I catch another glance of Irene. She notices, and looks over at me. She smiles, but it is humorless and cold. Her father is the butcher here.

No. The odds are not in my favor today.


End file.
